


Privately Owned Spiral Galaxy

by Al_D_Baran



Series: Dark Voltron Fics [5]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: ABO Galras, Abusive Relationships, Alien Biology, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Death, Drug Use, Drug-Induced Sex, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, Fetus Murder, Forced Abortion, Forced Heat, Forced Pregnancy, Galra Keith (Voltron), Gaslighting, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Impregnation, Infant Death, Infant Murder, Intersex, Intersex Omegas, M/M, Manipulation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Medical Kink, Medical Torture, Minor Character Death, Mpreg, Near Death, Non-ABO Humans, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Human Genitalia, Not Beta Read, Not Season/Series 03 Compliant, One-Sided Attraction, One-sided Klance, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pregnancy, Prostitution, Rape/Non-con Elements, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Self-Worth Issues, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unreliable Narrator, Vaginal Sex, not rly but kind of, so everything is wildy ooc, written before season 03 so lotor is ooc as fuck but we all knew he was gonna be, written before season 04
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-10-29 16:29:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10857774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Al_D_Baran/pseuds/Al_D_Baran
Summary: "When the door slides to the right, it reveals not a druid in robes and gloves, but Keith, tied to what seemsto be the equivalent a gynaecologist’s chair, his legs spread obscenely wide, attached to the stirrups."Lotor decides that Lance deserves a gift for bringing him the Black and Red paladins. Lance isn't sure what to think about it.





	1. only everyone can judge me

**Author's Note:**

> Seems like all I write recently is gross fucking shit. Guess it’s the stress of finals. Enjoy. Title is from a crywank song, btw.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance knows he’s ruined their life, their chances at saving the Universe. Everything that comes down to him is something deserves.

 

 

 

 

_Someone unattainable dictates my emotional stability_

_Mesmerized with how disinterested you are with me_

— Crywank, I Don't Know About What Happened (Because Once You Start Writing It All Becomes Fiction)

 

 

 

When Lotor enters his cell, it’s been days since Lance has even seen anyone. He looks up hopefully, as if the man who once was his saviour would want something to do with him now. Two tall, heavy guards flank him then, holding laser spears in their hands. One of them slaps it into his open palm, a show of dominance that has Lance cowering, hiding with a sob and a cry.

“Please don’t hurt me!” he begs, remembering clearly how he has been beaten the first time he was brought in here.

_On Lotor’s order._

And then he came in, framed like the neon lights of the hallway, like a fucking angel, the pale hair crowning him like a halo, extending a hand. He had called him a cute name. Sweetheart. Sweet cheeks. Lance had gripped him tight.

Once again, it’s similar. Lotor smiles, too sweet to be real, kneeling as he gives him a hand.

“You’ve been good, my dear,” he says this time. “You are a traitor, but you’ve done good for me by bringing him the Red and Black paladins.”

Lance feels his lips twitch – he wants to smile, but he’s not sure if he should. He just wants Lotor to call him good. Please, please, let him be good. He wants to do good for him, for the man who’s done so much for him, he wants to give back. He lowers his head, waiting for more, waiting to hear more words from him. Maybe he’ll be able to speak later. For now, he can’t even make a sound, too scared to even let out a noise. If he did wrong, he’ll beat him up. Lance still sorely remembers the sticks on his body. He’s still covered in bruises and shallow cuts.

“Now, come on… don’t look so scared, little bird,” Lotor croons, lifting his head with his clawed fingers. He’s shorter than the rest of the Galras, skin smooth and lilac, long white hair framing his handsome features. Lance feels like he’s a sparrow and he’s an eagle, just from his bone structure and the claws. Lotor looks regal and Lance feels like he’s the dirt he’s stepping on.

“You’ve done much good for me,” Lotor begins again, wiping at his stained cheeks, a lazy smile still sprawled over his face. “You need to have some form of thanks from me. I was thinking… you’ve been in love with that Red paladin you’ve been telling me about mmh?”

Lance doesn’t know what to say. So he doesn’t speak. Just nods. Nods, agrees. He’s been in love with Keith since he saw him in the Garrison hallways, frowning before Shiro approached. He’s had his heart broken ever since he saw them hold hands in the castle, ever since Shiro kissed Keith’s now lilac forehead when the changes appeared after he shifted to a more Galra appearance.

Keith can’t be a reward. Lance wishes he was, in a way, as terrible as the idea is. He’s well past regretting morally inacceptable actions, now. He’s brought the three of them here and his need for affection has put the three of them in very different cells. A cold, clammy one for him. Silks and gauzes of the seraglio for Keith and the chilling arena cells for Shiro, once again.

If there’s one thing he does regret, it’s bringing Shiro back here. The haunted look on his face when Lotor had told him the crowd had missed him had made him vomit.

But good for him, he’d thought, somehow, still viciously jealous that he had Keith.

He loves him. He _wants_ him.

And he’s already proven he’s a piece of shit. There’s nothing he can do to be forgiven, now. Lotor knows, even if he says he loves him, that he’s no good. Just good enough to bring him the paladins and he can’t be trusted. He’s betrayed his friends. He’s right. Lotor was right all along. He’s less than the useless wheel of the coach, he’s the dirt they roll on.

And he’s right – so why would Keith even give him the time of the day if he’s so worthless? Voltron truly _is_ a joke is if the Blue lion chose him, even with its low standards.

“Come now,” Lotor says, pulling him up with a pat to his shoulder. He looks terrible in the skin-tight suit of prisoners, the shirt he wears a paler lavender compared to Shiro’s purple one. “I have a gift for you, for all your good deeds for me, little bird.”

His hands are chained together with a luminous purple link, stretching to only about a foot wide. Lance is used to the restraints, lets Lotor guide him, one hand over his shoulder as they walk long the dim-lit corridors. Galras can’t see in the broad light and Lance thinks it’s why Keith was always so squinty on the castle and yet, so efficient during missions on these ships. It doesn’t matter now. Keith won’t fight anymore, never again.

He’s an Omega. His father is a noble Galra, his mother a noble Altean from a surviving colony, making Lotor very interested in obtaining him, if only for the fact he has a functional womb.

And Lotor needs a heir. He promised Keith wouldn’t be harmed. Lance believes him because each time he sees Keith at gladiator games, he looks as angry as ever. The first time, he even fought to get to the ring, seeing Shiro outnumbered by scaly beasts. But he had pulled through. Lotor had laughed. Told Keith to sit down or he’d send the dessert down there. He’d been using Shiro against Keith and vice-versa, hanging the threat of letting his generals use the Omega as they pleased hang over them like a Damocles’ sword.

Lance knows he’s ruined their life, their chances at saving the Universe. Everything that comes down to him is something deserves.

When they step in the Research Wing, Lance expects the worst. He can’t read Galra very well yet but… there’s something about Omegas on the door. This time, the worst takes a turn so insidious he tightens his legs, pushed inside by Lotor. Maybe this is it. Lotor wants to have a better use to him, wants something more practical, quicker. When the door slides to the right, it reveals not a druid in robes and gloves, but Keith, tied to what seems to be the equivalent a gynaecologist’s chair, his legs spread obscenely wide, attached to the stirrups.

Lance stands there dumbfounded, hearing the cheers and cackles of the guards behind him. Lotor lets out a pleased noise. Keith is making tiny noises of distress, folds slick with juices and lavender skin covered by sweat. There’s a plum flush to his cheeks and shoulders and his chest has filled in a little. The thick scent of heat fills the tiny room. Lance is pulled out of contemplation as Lotor kisses his cheek, pushing him toward the display.

“See? This is your surprise. We’ve induced a heat in him… don’t you love him? For Galras, siring an Omega a kit is a very high proof of love,” he purrs, touching his thighs, finding what joins the pants and shirt of the suit to pull them down, palming his crotch. Lance moans softly, looking around the room, as if expecting something terrible to come out.

Keith lets out a keen, cunt clenching over a glob of slick in front of him. He looks like he’s been there for hours, red medical gown sticking to his skin – red, red for the sexual slaves, in a fitting irony –, skin marked by the leather-like restraints. He’s so hard he’s leaking pitifully, the head of his cock flushed a deep purple.

Keith looks like he can barely see him, cursing, eyes rolling back into his skull.

“This is a special drug,” Lotor explains. “He’s pumped full of hormones, that makes him so wet and needy…”

There’s a soft call for Shiro. His mate. His Alpha, even though he’s not quite the deal, but proved to be just like them in the Arena, strong and capable to siring. Lance heard Lotor talk of breeding Champions later, maybe, with other strong slaves. He’s cattle to him and Keith isn’t much better. The heady smell gets to his head slowly, being there, staring between Keith’s leg to the stark pink of his pussy against the lavender skin feels to surreal. He’s swimming in disbelief. Lotor is touching his cock, making him hard as he pushes him closer.

Lance braces himself on Keith’s thighs, plumper than he remembers, the muscle loss to the ideal Omega’s soft flesh. He’s still skinny but he lost all his strength through the forceful hormones they’ve given him to truly awaken his fertility, giving him a womanly shape Keith seems to abhor.

“But he – is he…” Keith looked far away, eyes glassy, shivering…

“He’s an Omega,” Lotor answered with a bite to his ear, rubbing the head of Lance’s prick against the wet, wet hole. Lance moaned, Keith did the same. “Omegas in heat need this. You have to give him what he needs, don’t you think? He needs it. You’ve taken his life from him and now he’s just a whore, just a slave… he’ll get ill if you don’t help with the heat. Would you want to hurt him or waste your gift, Lance?”

“But, but he—,” the boy tries to speak, tries to say this feels like… it feels like – like _rape_. He shudders, the world feeling vile into his mind, so vile he can’t bring himself to say it. Keith is so warm it almost burns him, soft and wet.

“He’s an Omega. Omegas are made for this, sweetheart. Come on, just give him what he needs. You need to be good.”

Lance shudders. What will happen if he’s bad? He doesn’t want to know. And Keith is… he does look like he’s dying, panting and gyrating against him. He calls for Shiro again and when Lotor pushes him a little more, his cock slide right into the wet heat. There’s a mewl from his crush and Lance feel his own throat rumble with need, leaning over Keith to touch at his chest. He’s firm, nipples hard as he plucks them.

Lotor rubs his cock against his ass, still clothed but thick and filled. It’s been so long since he had any attention like this – is he happy with him? Lance shudders at the idea, both from the idea that Lotor could be happy with him and that it makes him harder, makes him drive a little deeper into Keith. He leans over and hugs Keith against him, keening.

It’s soft and damp in there, tight and burning around him, like Keith’s trying to milk him. He makes noises right out of a cheap porno and Lance feels his ears burn up. At least, when Keith clamps down in an orgasm, he sounds a little better. He’s not over still, crying for more, pushing back against him, hair spread like ink brush strokes on the white pillowcase beneath his head, panting harder – _harder, more._

It doesn’t take long for Lance to finally come, feeling Keith’s cunt tighten again around him, as if to gain more of the spunk, as if to drain it out of him. Lotor grins against his neck, pulling him out as he turns to pull his pants back up.

“Did you like your gift?” Lotor asks, tucking him back in.

Lance opens his mouth to speak but he doesn’t know what he could say. He swallows. Keith looks like he’s awaking by now, eyes looking around the room blearily. He’s propped up enough to notice the abundant cum.

“Did you like it?” Lotor asks again, gripping his chin to have him look at him.

This time, Keith turns to the noise, eyes widening as he notices who is with him. He looks ill, trashes against his restraints and looks at Lance like he’s just stabbed him.

Lance feels terrible. But he has to speak, he has to say, “Yes. I loved it. Thank you, your Grace.”

Keith looks even more betrayed, like all words have been stolen from his lips. Lance stares pointedly at his feet, feeling a sob rise in his throat. Lance feels sick and he knows _he_ is the one in the wrong there.

“And what are you thankful for?”

 _Christ_.

“For… for letting me…” He has to stop speaking not to heave. “For letting me use your…” There’s no words for it. His thing. His object. His incubator seemed to fit the deal. Keith was a womb to push his heir into.

That seems to be enough for Lotor. He turns his head to look at Keith again and Lance avoids his angry gaze.

“See what you’ve done here, pet?” Lotor says, petting his hair as he forces him to look at Keith. “You know what you’ve done to him, don’t you?”

Yes, yes; he does. It still feels vile, even more when he has to look in Keith’s eyes. Hatred. Just hatred. Something burning there.

“He might be an Omega who needed it. But that doesn’t change what you’ve done. What a bad friend you are, pet.”

And he’s right. And he deserves it. He deserves Keith’s hate.

 

 

 


	2. now i'm sad (boo hoo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance wants to be good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess this is gonna be longer uh.  
> specific trigger warning for this chapter: there's a hell of a lot more of emotional manipulation in this.  
> lance is coping hard but i hope the tone doesn't make it sound like i agree with him.  
> just to be sure: what he did is very wrong, whatever the circumstances, and rationalising something you do is a normal coping mechanism.  
> it's a good one. maybe except in cases like this.  
> anyway, proceed with caution, yadda yadda. you read the tags.

“ _Cruel Apollo smirks on his throne as he watches your heart leap like the wings on your back. He is bright and beautiful, and you have always been weak in the face of slender fingers and cruel mouths._ ”

—        [s.a.s. | don’t fall for the golden boy who’s feral smile drips blood | tragic mortals #1](https://ruefulstars.tumblr.com/post/158830706816/cruel-apollo-smirks-on-his-throne-as-he-watches)

 

 

 

 

Lotor comes to get him a second time for what feels like weeks after.

He’s been put on a strict diet. One tiny meal every day, because Lotor can do this. Lance wants to think it’s unfair but he’s just applying the sentence they give to those who enter the harem and sleep with an Omega when they haven’t been allowed to. It’s a harsh reality, to scare away those who aren’t supposed to be in this secluded area of the station, whose location – in the prince’s wing – gives everything a very clear meaning.

Lotor owns them.

And decided that he didn’t like him touching Keith.

Lance thinks it’s fair. When he thinks of Keith’s face when he realized what he had done to him… Lance thinks he deserves far more. He doesn’t know how much time has passed, but between the torture of his empty stomach and the fretful sleep he can get, it’s burned behind his eyelids. Sometimes, he dreams of Keith, tied to that grotesque bed that kept his thighs apart, just watching him with hate in his eyes.

And the worst is that he still yearns for his forgiveness, even when he knows he doesn’t deserve it. He was trying to help him, Lance thinks – but he knew what he was doing, he knew that, even if Keith was wet and bucking, he wasn’t _there_. It was rape.

It’s that word.

It feels like vomit in his mouth when he thinks he’s done that to Keith, when he says he loves him.

When he thinks he loves him, still.

When Lotor left, he repeated to him again, “You knew what you were doing and you still did it. Truly, what more can you do to your friends?”

Lance didn’t answer. There was nothing to say. He felt sick. He was heaving. When they left him in his cold cell, he just leaned over the toilet in a corner, really, a hole in the cement, and vomited everything he had in his stomach, until there was nothing left. It wasn’t much. Prisoners weren’t allowed much.

And still now, he’s being punished.

Until the days turning into something without meaning, not in the dark with the sliver of light that comes in from the window. The lighting is always dim in Galra ships, because Galras are just like bats – an odd mix of bat and cat, something feline and something even more nocturnal. Their eyesight is terrible in the light. Lance can’t see anything, though he’s gotten used to the darkness of his cell.

So when the door opens, his eyelids slam shut. It’s burning him. He feels like Dracula, damned and weak, curling on the floor with a keen.

“I’m sorry,” he says right away, crying already as Lotor picks him up by the arm with a chuckle.

“Don’t worry, little bird,” Lotor says. “You can’t help yourself. You’re just terrible from the start, aren’t you? Those like you just can’t help themselves.”

Lance lets out a little noise, not approving or disapproving. Is he forgiven? Is he not? He can never tell. Maybe he really just can’t help himself. He just didn’t know better. It doesn’t feel like it changes anything.

Lotor lets him stand up. Shakily, Lance does so, noticing a pain in every of his joints. He feels week and helpless, needing to hold onto the prince to stand, who just wraps his arm around his shoulder. He leads him out of the cell, helping him until they reach his bedroom. All the soft silk feel foreign on him, the regal of the room blinding him even more.

Lotor asks for his servants to wash him. The water comes out a dull grey. Lance feels a little more alive, but always on edge. What is coming? He knows Lotor hands kindness with one hands, but wields poison in the other. When the vigorous scrub is followed with a meal, Lance just stares at it before he takes a bit, sighing in bliss at the sweet taste of the spices, rather than the ashen one of the scraps they’re served in the cells. Lotor won’t let him eat much.

“You need to take it easy, little bird,” he croons, his hand over his as they eat in the sumptuous, private dining area of his apartments. Where he used to be, because when he was good, Lotor loved him. Lance hopes he’s being good, good enough for Lotor not to rip the hope from his lungs. Rip the wings he used to give him.

So Lance obeys. He takes only a little of the wonderful meal, a little of the dessert, stops when he’s tutted, dutifully takes a little of the alcohol Galras take during meals. He feels like a prince again, taken out of purgatory. It wasn’t his fault, he thinks, again, he’s just like this, he doesn’t know better.

The idea still sits uneasily inside of him, like a rat gnawing at a damn until it’ll suddenly burst. He tries to ignore it.

He can ignore it until he’s set in bed, silk all around him, in the softness of the pillow pit, like a nest he cuddles into happily. Lotor joins him and Lance feels home, so exhausted he just feels sleep try to take him until he feels lips on his neck.

“M’tired,” he mutters, turning to kiss his prince, “Please, your Grace… I’m so tired.”

“I’ll take care of you,” Lotor insists, slick fingers slipping inside him.

He doesn’t want to. The thought awakens him a little, to the uneasy sensation of being woken from a disagreeable nightmare. He doesn’t want to.

It’s too late for him to think that. He’s lost that right. He didn’t want to.

And what will Lotor say, if he realizes he doesn’t want to? Lance thinks of his cell. Cold and dark. Where he’s all alone with all his thoughts and where the pleasant buzzing of wine is unattainable. The water there tastes like it’s been taken from sewers. The food tastes like it’s already gone bad.

Lance thinks of all that. Then spreads his legs. Lotor takes it as agreement and opens him up slowly, enters with only a slight pinch of pain. He’s so big, it’s just this way, he says. Lance has to believe Lotor, after all. He’s always right. It’s slow and soft. He thinks it’s lovemaking. But he still feels the bile in his throat, buries his face in the pillow with a soft keen. He hates this. He can’t take it. It feels like a farce of love, a tired joke by now. He’s chasing something that’s never been there, he realizes, but can’t help but cling.

No, Lotor once loved him, Lance thinks when Lotor’s thighs meet his own. The prince grunts with effort, losing elegance when he’s knot deep inside a warm hole. Lance tries to think of him as the attentive lover who took him out of that cell, so long ago. It feels like it was a lifetime ago but it can only be a few months.

No, maybe if he’s good, Lotor will love him again.

It’s not his fault if he makes mistakes. He’s just like that. He can’t help himself.

 _But you must be punished anyway so you don’t do it again_ , Lotor’s voice supplies for him, in his head.

And he’s right. He must be. A man’s memory is on his back; the metaphorical whip lashes are good. Lance can’t help but think of Keith as he’s rocked, pitifully soft, mouth bitter with his helplessness and the irony. Lotor finishes eventually, knot inflating inside him. He’s not an Omega and he can barely take the width of it, crying with the pain it brings.

“Shh… shh, little bird. It’s only for a few minutes. You can take it. Take it for me. I know you can.”

It feels good for him, to knot someone. Lance knows. He turns around, tearfully staring into the prince, unable to help himself from sobbing.

“I’m sorry,” he says it like he’s begging.

Lotor just smiles sweetly, looking so beautiful in the afterglow. And he pecks him. Gentle, kind, loving.

“You’re so good.”

And Lance cries even more.

He’s not quite done when Lotor’s knot deflates, fifteen minutes later, leaving him feeling open and painful, cum pinking with blood when he sees it dripping down his thighs. He can’t help the hiccups that come to him when he reaches the bathroom to clean again, meeting the kind eyes of a Beta servant, full of pity for him.

“I just want to be good,” he sobs, sitting on the tiled floor as she brings him soaps and perfumes. “Why can’t I be good? I just want to be good.”

 

 

 

 

Lance spends the week there. Maybe his days in the cell are finally over. Maybe he’s been good.

He doubts it. But he tries to be. When Lotor asks him to do something, he does right away. When Lotor asks him to wear something, he wears it right away. When Lotor asks him to come over and spread open, he does it right away. Even if he’s in a discussion with his generals and they’re watching like he’s crazy, because this is improper.

Lance waits for something to happen, something worse than the words.

Each day feels like he’ll go mad.

He tries so hard to be good. He doesn’t feel like he’s succeeding very well.

At the end of the week, they go see a gladiator match, with Shiro, of course. Lance realizes it’s been actual _months_ when he sees Keith, withered and sedated, still hanging at the edge of the balcony, a guard close, as if he’d jump, thinned and with bags under his eyes. There’s the visible bump of pregnancy over his stomach, small yet noticeable.

“Smells fertile and ready,” Lotor says with a lick of his lips.

Lance turns to him, unsure what that means. Maybe… he’s almost there? Lance doesn’t know what to feel about seeing Keith like this, dressed in the see-through silks Omegas wear, tits filled a little more, weak and pliant when someone pulls him to their chest. Lance realizes now that he had been so focused on his crime that he hadn’t even expected the seed to take. But they’ve been pumping him full of hormones to make him more like an Omega, more fertile.

Keith must have fought before, because now, he’s so drugged he’s just a doll, pull to a big Galra’s chest, bent over behind curtains and Lance can’t see anything anymore. He feels sick.

“I wanted to make sure he was fertile,” Lotor tells him, pulling him to his laps.

The crowd cheers around them and Lance feels out of place, when the others around the lodge have sweet Omegas, dressed scantily around them. And he’s there, covered up and sickly, staring at the ring with apprehension. Shiro’s muscles rippled visibly under his light armour, the sword in his hand expertly thrusted into the creature’s chitin plates, bleeding a dark purple over him.

Shiro stares at them and licks some of it.

The crowd buys into it, screams even more.

When he steps on the dead monster, he lifts the sword up in the air, staring directly at Lotor.

At that, the prince just chuckles.

“Quite the bloodthirsty warrior, this champion,” he muses.

Lance just nods. He knows what Shiro’s fighting for. The screen gives them a close-up of his face, bloody and strong, obviously well-fed as the unparalleled Champion. The supreme Champion, who would kill anything they give in front of him because he thirsts for blood, a monster who wants only to fight.

And yet.

Shiro looks for something in the loge, as if expecting to find someone on the balcony.

Lance looks back at the curtains behind them.

And tries not to think about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please keep in mind that i do not condone anything happening in this fic because i know some little shitheads would love to think i do. nope, i don't. since this works has such a wide gap of kudos/hits, i'm guessing some readers are antis having a stroke.  
> more to come uuuhhhhhh soon. finals, etc.  
> don't forget to kudos, subscribe and sell me your soul through a comment.


	3. it's ok, i wouldn't remember me either

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A voyeur view into an unreachable ideal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there was a clear lack of sheith. fixed.

  
  
  


«  _Vous regarderez les gens. Vous regarderez les choses. Rien ne sera plus triste que vous._  »

“ _You’ll look at people. You’ll look at things. Nothing will be more miserable than you._ ”

— Méléagant, Kaamelott, Livre V, Le Théâtre

 

 

 

Obviously, Lotor won’t let him do that.

Not think about it – because he doesn’t deserve ignorance.

Keith’s room in the medical wing has an observation bay, as not to disturb the patient while the druids carefully monitor the growth of a child in the rare Galra-Altean hybrid. Lance thinks that, if Lotor hadn’t been the crown prince, they would have done the same with him. Alteans are just so well-hidden that no one’s ever found another of Lotor’s quality, they say.

Noble by both lineage, an ancient Galra family for the father, councilmen and great warriors; close to the royal one. An Altean family, often married to their once-current line, also said to be warriors. Lotor mentioned to him that Keith’s mother had been a pilot too. The poor Lady had been caught in crossfires, captured and Sendak had claimed her a loot. If Sendak was the father rather than Thace, who had claimed the kit and let them escape, then, it was only a minor inconvenience. Sendak had died a warrior’s honourable death and his family was just as ancient.

There’s a picture of Keith’s mother in the observation room. She’s got the same dark hair and unapproachable look on her face. There’s a striking resemblance between them. Questions marks on her whereabouts, marked over in red pen in what he can assume is that she died of a human illness on Earth. Keith told him that was what happened – he almost died, too. He was just a child, then.

Now that he can take a good look at him, Lance realizes Keith looks like shit.

They’re feeding him through a tube in his nose. Probably because he refuses to eat.

And if the old bruises fading over him are anything to tell, he’s tied to tightly with leather cuffs to make sure he won’t harm himself. It leaves a cold feeling in the pits of his stomach. Lance wonders if Keith tried to simply stop the pregnancy himself. He would be mad enough to try to punch himself in the gut until he bled.

There’s an IV in the crook of his arm, a clear liquid seeping through. Hormones to help the gestation. Or more, to make sure he looks like the sweet Omegas Lotor loves so much, just a little plump, without muscles, helpless and soft. The contrary of Lance, who’s tall and wiry, shoulders wide from swimming so much in his youth. It’s obvious he’s not what Lotor likes, even more when the previous weeks have left him diminished.

Keith is sleeping when guards bring Shiro in, cleaned and wearing ring slave clothes. The man rushes to Keith’s side right away, hands bound tightly, left alone without more surveillance than the druid in the bay. He writes something down, staring at it with his eldritch space doctor looks. Lance shudders each time he has to look at a druid. He wonders if there’s even anything under their cloaks and gloves. He doesn’t even want to know.

Lotor turns his face to the window, softly, as if he could look away. But Lance knows better when he stares at Shiro, pressing his nose into Keith’s inky hair, crooked in an uncomfortable positon just to be able to hold his hands. Lotor lets out a fond sigh – Lance knows the sound well enough to know it’s mocking. Shiro looks at Keith for any signs of mistreatments, wrists tied together so tight he must touch carefully with both hands.

When he touches the IV, the druid warns, “Don’t touch that.”

Shiro looks to what must be a speaker, eyes defiant for a moment before simply giving up. Keith would be hurt if he misbehaves. Shiro would be hurt if Keith misbehaves. Lance wonders if they hurt Shiro when Keith was obviously struggling with the fact he’s used to bear children he doesn’t want, like he’s just a womb, even more when he seems to have been tied down and sedated for weeks.

It doesn’t take long for Keith to wake up, like he’s startled out of a nightmare. He looks around in panic, sensing the heavy mass next to him, looking at Shiro for a moment before relaxing. Shiro, who moved away to give him space to become a little more conscious, steps right back in, taking one of Keith’s hands in his again. Keith’s fist wraps tightly to eHeShiro’s fingers as his lover covers their hands with his metal one, leaning in to kiss his forehead.

“Shiro,” he says, like he hasn’t seen him in years again.

It’s cruel, Lance thinks suddenly, that Keith seems to always be separated for Shiro. Lance thinks absence making the heart grow fonder is true. There’s so much love and longing in both their eyes that it’s hard to look at. It’s something he can never have, even less with Keith. This is what Lotor wanted him to see, he understands now. Lotor wanted him to know he can never have this. Not the careful nose brushing that doesn’t lead to a kiss, just the need to be close as possible, foreheads touching. No need for a kiss to be intimate. It’s so private and soft.

“I’m here, baby,” Shiro promises. “You’re not alone.”

Shiro eventually rises a little to kiss Keith’s forehead again, both bound and unable to touch properly.

“I wish you wouldn’t go again,” Keith murmurs, the sound of it almost drowned by the rubbing of their clothes together.

“I know, sweetheart. I know. I don’t want to leave you either. Just… if we’re… if we behave like they want, maybe we can be again, soon.” When Keith makes a choked noise, Shiro kisses his hair again. “I know. I hate it, too. It’s alright to be upset.”

“I hate _it_ so much,” Keith said, with more rage in his cries than there could be in his earliest battle cries. There’s the frustration, hopeless and ever building. “Why did he have to do this?”

Lance feels sick when he understands he’s speaking of what he’s done. He tries to move to get to the trash bin – Lotor keeps him still. Lance is forced to watch when Shiro wipes Keith’s nose and his tears with a tissue.

“I don’t know, baby. I don’t know.”

“Why can’t it just die? I hate seeing him.”

Is he it? Or is it the child? Lance can’t even think of it as his. A mistake. Yes, the proof of his crime. It shouldn’t exist. He shouldn’t have done that. He wishes he didn’t. Why can’t be just be good?

Shiro tenses at the words.

“I’m sorry, Keith. I wish I could have… taken you out of there before. I wish I could do it now.”

There’s so much pain in his words. Keith looks at him then, raising a hand for it to be taken in his. Keith gives him a little smile, as if to both reassure them, saying, “We’ll find a way. We always do. Voltron needs us.”

They don’t mention him.

Lance knows he deserves it. They don’t think about saving him. And it’s only normal. He’s raped Keith. He sent Shiro back in the arena and brought them all here. If anything, he deserves to be here. After all, he’s done everything for that.

If they leave him, he’ll be miserable. Lance thinks he deserves it. If the time in the cell was his purgatory, coming back to the silk and velvet of Lotor’s apartments is his own personal Hell. Where he expiates a crime he’s committed in the most fitting way – that if he says no, he’ll simply go back to limbo. Maybe Hell is preferable.

“How do you feel?” Shiro asks after a short pause, fingers lacing with Keith’s.

“Tired,” Keith answers simply, looking at Shiro through his eyelashes. “You?”

“Better when I can see you.” Shiro leans in to join their lips in a little peck, soft and sweet. It manages to make them both smile, and, as if they had both missed the feeling too much, the lean into each other again, faces brushing together in innocent kisses. “I’ll try to see you more often. Didn’t quite get to these last few weeks. They’ve been making me train until I’m so sore I can’t move.”

There’s a sigh. Like it’s just a normal inconvenience.

“C’m’here,” Keith adds, “I want you.”

Shiro seems to understand and stares around the room. He knows they’re being watched – they must both do. That doesn’t seem to be a problem for any of them.

“Are you sure?” Shiro asks carefully.

“Haven’t had anything good in weeks. Please?” Keith spreads his legs, not invitingly or pleadingly, just as much as the cuffs keeping his legs down and open will allow him. Shiro seems to hesitate for a moment, biting his lower lip before he agrees with a slow nod.

“I missed you,” Keith breathes out when Shiro lifts the blanket to attempt to slide under. It’s a little chilly in the medical wing. Keith stops Shiro from untying all the red gown’s laces, letting him uncover his chest, puffy, bigger than before, even when Shiro could still easily cover both with just his palms, changed from pregnancy, nipples now a darker shade of pink. “I don’t wanna see it,” he murmurs, obviously speaking of his stomach.

“It’s okay.”

Shiro doesn’t push it, turns to the last few knots to have some more space down there. His hands ghost over a few handprints and bruises. Lance swallows when he sees them. It seems that now that Keith is on the most efficient form of birth control, Lotor is _much_ laxer about who he lets use his toy. His stomach twist uneasily. Lotor lets out a chuckle.

It’s all fun to him.

Lance looks to him, trying to be as subtle as possible. The prince is too amused by Shiro lying over Keith, arms passed behind his back to accommodate their restraints. Keith has to arch a little more to keep his back off the hard cuffs but none of them complains. They press foreheads together, nose touching. Shiro’s body covers Keith’s like a blanket, thick and warm, hips moving slowly into him.

Keith’s hands move to Shiro’s ass, pulling him even closer when he can, playing with his lower lip between his teeth.

The man even has the heart to laugh a little. “I know why you love me now,” he croons, kissing the corner of Keith’s lips, playful, cracking his eyes open with the most enamoured expression Lance has ever seen on anybody.

Keith mirrors him, squeezing his ass with a grunt of pleasure, tilting his head backward, mouth opened in a silent moan. They find their pleasure at almost the same time, Shiro stilling as he marks up his lover’s neck, rising up to kiss his chin.

“Beautiful,” Shiro says, as if for himself. He’s still smiling, probably from Keith’s possessive hands on his ass. It should be a romantic scene. Lance can only find tragedy in it, with the ignored baby bump between them. So round and ready, with only weeks left. Shiro noses at Keith’s sweaty collarbone and chest, kissing as much of his skin as he can, laying his forehead in between, just on his sternum, so he can feel his heartbeat.

If only it was Shiro’s, Lance thinks this couldn’t be more romantic. It’s like he killed romance himself, leaving love to scrambles for what it has left. Intimacy, tenderness. There’s a ink spot, a hole in the middle of the canvas he’s looking it. Lance hates it.

Like they need to touch more, Shiro moves, passing his bound hands behind Keith’s head, carefully lying on his side to hold him closer – Keith pulls the blanket back on them. Like that, Keith can hold his forearm in his hand. It doesn’t look comfortable, with Keith tied to the side of the bed, with only about an inch and a half to pull, leaving Shiro only a little room

He doesn’t seem to mind. The man even manages to fall asleep against him, their heads touching lightly.

“They’re quite the pair,” Lotor says, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you stay and watch a little, mh? Maybe they’ll need something later.”

“Yes, your Grace.”

Lance doesn’t want to watch. Lotor leaves and the druids follows. There’s a chair in the room he pulls closer, sitting in front of the silent observation bay. The beeps of machines surround him, the smell of sterile medicine and the slow, soft breaths coming from the microphones inside the room. They’re both so peaceful now.

He can never have this.

He can never have such a relationship, where each give so much and are willing to give even more, yet taking only what’s needed. Shiro and Keith are almost like a romance movie in a horror story, ready to do so much for each other. Shiro fights and Keith endures, because they have each other. They have something to fight. And Lance, well… he feels like he’s severed everything he could have struggled for.

The better option for him now truly is to just accept what is happening to him now.

Because he deserves that.

And Lance knows, when he watches them both, Shiro looking at Keith as he sleeps peacefully, with all the love in the world, that he can never have this.

And he can’t think about anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what the FUCK is consistent chapter division. see you soon for the ACTUALLY last part.  
> (i just like when my chapters are equally long ok...)  
> titles are now all from crywank songs because these are my lance songs.  
> also yes my medical kink is showing, sorry about that.  
> also yeah, i like kaamelott.


	4. if i were you, i'd be throwing up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance prefers a knife wrapped in silk than the caress of concrete against his face.  
> (tw for suicidal thoughts and yall know how gross this is in general so... get ready for the worst)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to galaxy where the chapters counter is forever fake and is brought to you by caffeine and apologies for mediocre updates all of the time

“ _Love is fucking stupid and I hate you._ ”

— Crywank, Love

  
  
  
  
  
Lotor speaks.

Lotor speaks a lot.

It’s crazy how Lance’s never noticed but the prince actually never shuts up for too long. Especially not when he’s sitting with his pet in his laps, chatting up with one of his generals, this one holding a crooning and purring Omega woman in his laps, endeared by her childish nuzzling. Now that he’s spent longer than any of them amongst Galras, Lance knows that’s behaviour kits have.

But he doesn’t want to think about kits. He doesn’t want to think about anything that could lead his mind on the way to thinking about his family. About what he’s done to Keith. About what he’s taken away from Keith _and_ Shiro. Because they spoke of having a family. Lance accidentaly caught some of their late night, sleepless conversations about having children of their own.

They want a few Keith will bear.

Keith wants to adopt one, after having spent all his childhood and part of his teenage years in an orphanage and the system, shuffled between homes until he became too much to handle. He wants an older kid, one that they’ll say would be a problem child.

Just like he was.

And Lance knows they’ll never get that. Shiro’s going to forever be just where he stands, dancing amongst dust clouds and blood, hand lighting up magenta as he drives it into the innards of whatever creature the Galras sends forward to him.

Keith’ll bear more kits for Lotor, at least once, or twice if he gives him an Alpha Male.

And now, he’s bargaining the first time the rest of his fertility with the man next to him.

“That’s too little GAC for such a prized specimen,” Lotor says, staring at Keith, slumped where he always is, stomach bearing him down with the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Half Altean from a noble family, Half Galra from a noble family… Thace has many exploits to his name. He’ll bear strong kits to whomever puts them inside him. And he’s a male. That makes him… exotic, don’t you think?”

“Fragile, you mean?” The General scoffs, “Wasn’t he feisty before? Heard he’s like fucking a corpse now. He surely is tight if he is a Male Omega, still. That adds value.”

“Ah,” Lotor muses, watching as Keith stays where he is, one hand going to his stomach as he grunts. “Oh, the kit’s kicked.” Lotor choses this moment to rub Lance’s cock through his pants. Lance hopes his whimper isn’t too miserable – he tries to make it sound as pretty as possible, because he knows Lotor will like it. If he’s good, he’ll keep him with him tonight.

Even if being with Lotor means to have to meet the expectations of his ravenous sexual appetite. The pain of the knot comes to him as a phantom, spreading him too wide, too much, too quickly. The fissures and the blood are already better than the damp solitude of his cell, the smell of moss and closed spaces filling it, as if to remind him he’d rot there.

No.

No, Lance prefers a knife wrapped in silk than the caress of concrete against his face.

He doesn’t deserve the choice, he reminds himself, but in a way, it’s cathartic. In this weird, fucked up way.

Someone picks Keith up from the balcony, as if the Galra’s carrying a limp doll to the private room and Lotor smirks at that.

“He’s popular, isn’t he?”

“Certainly, he is,” the General agrees. “He’s got some amazing tits. Filled up nicely with the kits. I wouldn’t mind bedding him and putting a kit in him if you didn’t intend on selling the first one so highly.”

Lance feels sick and rubs into Lotor’s touch, as if on instinct. He needs the pain to forget now. The Prince’s claws dig rivulets in his thighs as he yanks his pants down, the dry entry making him cry out in pain. Ever the adequate actor, Lance transforms it in a mewl of pleasure, sobbing out the Prince’s title.

“You, Your Grace.”

“Such a good toy. Being so good,” Lotor grunts, thrusting hard inside of him, efforts twisting his voice.

Lance fills his mind with the pain. He deserves that. He deserves that even more when Keith is getting impaled and defiled, by so many Galras, used for his body as if he’s just a cunt around their knots. Lance feels the spikes in his insides and gasps, opens his eyes to meet the sight of Shiro’s bloody face as Lotor’s knot rips him apart.

He sees Shiro’s pained pants on the screen. He’s been wounded; there’s deep claw marks bleeding rivers on his ribs and the monster tracks him all over the arena, smelling the blood in the maze-like pattern of it. Lance recognizes his lips forming the words of his mantra.

Lance intentionally pulls hard on the knot, sobbing a little at the pain.

He deserves it.

Lotor kisses a path up his neck. Lance can feel his stomach turn over in disgust. Each time he remembers the tender way Lotor used to treat him, all he wants is to feel the burn of his claws. Just so even his former happiness is tainted with reality – it was a lie, it was always a lie, he understood some time ago, already.

He understood, Lance thinks, maybe from the start. And when he had someone’s whole attention on him, someone who wanted to please him entirely and told him he was good, that he was so much better… Lance desperately wanted to believe it. So, he clung to Lotor’s words, the smiles, the insults to his friends.

Maybe Lance was right all along.

There’s nothing special about him. And he’s a failure.

And above all, he deserves all that.

When the knots deflate, Lotor wastes little time in tucking himself back into his pants. The General next to them is silent now, even the Omega on his laps is watching them oddly. It’s alright to be _sexual_ with an Omega or lesser for an Alpha but _having sex_ seems to still be taboo for most. Lance ignores them, cradling his pride against him as Lotor sits him back on his lap. In these moments, he’s glad that they’re black – it hides the blood well enough.

“It’s been a while since you spoke to your friend, hasn’t it?” Lotor asks, pulling Lance out of his grim reverie.

“You… you mean Keith, your Grace?” Lance asks carefully, lips trembling lightly.

“Yes, I do mean him,” the prince purrs, wrapping his arms around his waist in mock affection. “Wouldn’t you want to see him? Zexar is finished with him. After all, you should speak to your kit’s dam, no?”

Lance feels sick just at the idea. Keith hates him. Lotor reminds him once in a while of what he’s done to him through subtle insults, as if to twist the knife even more. Sometimes, Lance tries to remind himself that Lotor tricked him a little into doing it, that he might have had his hand forced in it a little too. Who knows what Lotor would have done to him after he refused? Lance knows now, he’d deserve it.

Anything would be better than to have done that.

Maybe in another Universe, he’s made the right choice.

But in this one, he’s standing terrifying in the back room, a guard standing right behind the silk that hides it to keep him inside. There’s cushions all over and Keith is haphazardly lying on them, clothes rucked up, thighs slick with spunk.

He looks cold. Lance thinks of covering him with a blanket before stopping himself.

He doesn’t even dare to move, eyes glued to his friend’s prostrated form. The drugs in his system seem to be wearing off slowly, starting with the young man’s slow rubbing of the bruised skin of his inner elbow. The needles haven’t been tender on it and with his lighter frame and haunted expression, Lance would think he’s a junkie.

Keith’s gaunt face turns to him slowly, groggy expression turning to a snarl instantly.

“What the fuck’s you doin’ here?” he _growls_ , fangs bared as he hides his thighs as much as he can, covering his stomach, more so to hide his shame than protect the baby, Lance guesses. “Where’s your fucking boyfriend anyway?”

There must only be a few weeks more. The kit seems active enough to make Keith squirm. The distraction isn’t enough to stop Keith’s fury and the once Red Paladin looks at him with burning hatred in his purple eyes.

“You’ve fucking…” The crowd cheers loud enough to cover his voice, making the Omega punch a pillow in rage. He’s so weak a few punches make him dizzy. And even now, Lance wants to rush to help him, his feelings still ever so strong for him, even if they’re warped by guilt. “You fucking did this to us. I fucking hate you.”

Lance clings to the wall behind him, as if Keith would be able to waddle over and strangle him when his legs can’t even support him.

“You’ve done this to me,” Keith adds, voice breaking near the end. “I fucking trusted you and you did this to me.”

Keith sobs now, whining pathetically as he curls on himself, starting to cry without being able to help himself. “You were supposed to be my friend. And you did that. Shiro could die. I don’t want to lose him. I just want to go home.”

Lance understands.

Even if home is a different place. He longs for his mother’s embrace now, feeling hot tears pour down his cheeks as he thinks of her hands. How she’d caress his hair and tell him everything was fine, that things would get better.

But they won’t.

“I’m sorry,” Lance says, barely above a whisper. “You don’t deserve that. I wish… I’d never… if only I wasn’t…”

If only he hadn’t made this mistake. Lance can only watch as Keith sobs, as if all his resolve broke when he looked at him a moment ago, with hatred, incomprehension – betrayal.

“I don’t care what Lotor would’ve done to me if I hadn’t done it,” Lance admits suddenly. He was scared. It’s no excuse. He should have been stronger for his friend. He should have.

Keith just screams in frustration, shaking his head as he turns away.

“I don’t care, I don’t fucking care. Just… fucking go.”

Of course.

“I wish you were dead. I fucking hate you. I hate you so much. Why couldn’t you just fucking die?”

 

 

 

Lance doesn’t see Keith for what feels like week after this.

He’s relieved, somehow. Lotor keeps him in his apartments like a toy he’s lost interest in, even when he spends most nights treating his wounds with the help of a servant.

Lance feels numb to everything, like life is going around him without him participating. He feels like a figurant in a horror movie, with Lotor’s sickly sweet monologues all around him. Lance tries to smile when Lotor talks, he tries hard to act like he isn’t thinking still about what Keith told him.

_I wish you were dead._

_Why couldn’t you just die?_

He remembers how Keith’s hands were clutched over his stomach.

Maybe one of these requests was for him and another was for the child. Lance can’t disagree with any of these. It would have been easier if Keith had just lost it, he realizes, grimly. Lotor would have killed him because he has no use for a barren Omega.

Lance thinks death sounds nice, now, too.

He feels like he’s already dead, most of the time. Drifting, his head ringing with the memory of Keith’s cunt around his cock, the betrayal on his face, asking for him to just die. It hurts because somehow, he still loves him. When insomnia plagues him, Lance can’t help but think of saving Keith somehow, thinks of dozens of escape plans.

He’s thought of shoving his hands inside of his stomach and pull the child out.

Keith wants it dead and Lance thinks it would be better.

If only it had died.

If only he had died before.

But Lotor wouldn’t have let that happens, he knows.

The guilt keeps him awake at night and most of them, he can’t keep his meal down with it, not when he’s clearly seen the effects of what he’s done on Keith. This is all his fault. He was never fit to be a hero, can’t even be fit to be a villain. He’s just a wreck.

 

 

 

 

“Don’t you think he was right?” Lotor asks him, a week after he’s seen Keith again.

“Yeah,” Lance says without thinking. “It would have been better this way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is the end and then we have the epilogue idfk what i'm doing also THANK U FOR LIKE... 5.5k VIEWS???? THATS WILD ILY ALL I'M SORRY I'M TOO AWKWARD TO ANSWER TO EVERYONE BUT UR ALL MY FAVES OK  
> also sorry for that weird ending but you all know where the fuck thats going since day 1 so adksjsjadhja thank u for hanging around during this hellride ur all accepted to the ending party of this fic i'll make some croissants for you guys  
> edit: some parts of this might (will) be rewritten later because upon the like 7th rereading i still feel theyre a little weak


	5. i am in great pain, please help me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ll take your life now,” Lotor said with a wide smile. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nyes this is unedited and caffeinated still rip my fucking ass  
> yes the scary tags are in this chapter READ CAREFULLY

“ _Too many broken hearts have fallen in the river_

_Too many lonely souls have drifted out to sea_

_You lay your bets and then you pay the price.”_

— 10cc, _The Things We Do For Love_

 

 

 

One morning, Lotor wakes him by peppering kisses all over his neck. Lance could almost relax into the touch, lets out a little noise as he spreads his legs. He wants it to be over quickly.

“Oh, no time for that today, little bird,” Lotor croons, bringing his knees back together.

_Thank God._

There’s relief and a tinge of confusion. Something worse will happen later but for now, Lance is glad he won’t get to suffer through a whole day of limping and painful, ever bleeding wounds that open again as he simply walks.

“I have a surprise for you.”

Lance tries to feign joy – badly.

“Really, your Grace?” His smile is too shaky, his voice trembles too greatly. Lotor just caresses his lower lip with his clawed thumb, noticing of course, even as he lets him think he hasn’t – but Lance _knows_ he’s an open book to him and that terrifies him, even as he asks, voice as peppy as he can make it, “What is it?”

“If I tell you, it won’t be a surprise, will it?”

Lotor’s smile has much too many sharp teeth for Lance to feel anything but dread make itself comfortable in the seat it’s taken in his stomach.

He dresses sharply, as Lotor ordered him, covered from neck to toes in clothes that should be on the prince’s mate. Lance eventually understood that being called the Prince’s “mate” was only a joke at his expanse. There was no room for love in the Galra Empire and especially not in royalty’s bed. Affection only made a soldier weak. Lotor was a narcissistic and could only ever love himself anyway. Lance could be loved if he was useful… but Lance knows he hasn’t been useful in a while.

And when he walks in Lotor’s office, what should be a reassuring hand to his lower back, pushing him in the room. Shiro is standing at the other end of it, muzzled, chained like a beast, with more scars than ever littered on him. There’s a new one on his jaw, as if he was bitten centimetres away from the jugular, just on the bone.

Shiro looks dark and dangerous and in this instant, Lance finally understands what any of his opponents in the Arena must have been feeling, instants away from their death.

Lance never thought about what Shiro was going to say to him when they saw each other again.

“I should kill you,” Shiro says, arms bound behind him, standing still. His voice is even, cold and assured, making something icy spread inside Lance’s guts.

_Fear. Fear, that’s what they all felt right before dying._

He’s looking directly at him. Shiro doesn’t even look at Lotor, only Lance.

“None of that for now, please,” Lotor tuts.

Shiro doesn’t listen and carries on just as calmly, “With my bare hands. For what you’ve done to Keith. You’ve hurt him so much.”

When Lance tries to apologize, his voice catches in his throat with a little choked sob.

_I’m sorry, I’m sorry._

No words come out. Shiro looks at him like he’s the most pathetic, insignificant insect he’s ever seen. Lance’s never seen a look like that on Shiro. And on a man with a usually so friendly disposition, it feels out of place. Terrifying. And Lance understand that he’s right.

If even Shiro has come to hate him, then he must truly be terrible.

He’s done more than hurt Keith, Lance knows. He’s destroyed him. He couldn’t even stand the other day, laid there prone, devoid of any hopes of being anything else but a fuck hole. Lance’s not only ruined Keith, but his future. Never will he leave and start that life with Shiro he’s always been planning.

It always broke it heart, really. Lance has been in love with Keith since the first time he’s seen him at the Garrison, charmed by that frowned and the way his pout made his lips look just a little bigger. How soft his hair looked then, too. Now it’s dry and unkempt, a tangled mess that druids don’t seem to brush or wash more often than they must. There’s no use giving too much attention to a tool, anyway.

“I have a surprise for you two,” Lotor says with a smirk, sitting at the front of his desk, joining his fingers in front of him.

Lance swallows.

Shiro stiffens.

When Keith is brought in the room from the service door, Lance isn’t even surprised. Shiro starts fighting against his bonds, calling out to his lover as a Beta servant carefully helps him walk. Keith stills refuses to even touch his stomach, protruding under the loose red gown, stumbling more than he walks at all, centre of gravity of gravity changed, too used to be strapped down and unmoving.

Lance stares between every occupant of the room in panic, feeling his heart rise in his throat.

A surprise. He knew what that meant.

Lance moves to Lotor’s side, trying to simper to try to lessen what is sure to come. What? Lance doesn’t know, but he _knows_ something terrible will happen. He can smell it in the air of the room, he can feel it in Keith and Shiro’s desperate looks to each other, see it in Lotor’s cruel smirk.

“Ah, your Grace… a surprise is too much for me and, and… the Champion, he’s… he’s very unruly.”

Lotor looks at him and Lance finds himself frozen on the spot. These golden eyes nail him right where he is, mouth hanging open in a little noise. No, no, it’s useless. He can’t say these things. Lance suddenly thinks of his cell, cold, dark, _silent_ , feels a heavy monster climb on his back and rest on his chest, choking him with its weight.

Energy radiates around the room, tension so thick one can feel it under his fingertips. Lance feels it in his bones.

Lotor doesn’t speak for a time, as if waiting for them to do something.

Two servants have to hold back Keith for him not to rush to Shiro, in this simulacra of retrouvailles. Lance swallows when Keith needs to kneel, instinctively bringing a hand to his stomach when it seems painful, pulling away as if he’s burned himself.

And then, Lotor speaks, “What did you tell me, pet?” he asks, tilting Lance’s chin to meet his gaze, running his fingers along his jaw.

“What, what did I tell you, your Grace?”

“Ah, don’t be coy, my darling.” Lotor’s smile is all teeth, shiny, gleaming, dangerous. “You told me it would have been better if it was dead.”

Lance doesn’t know how he stays up – he sways, mouth opening and closing on monosyllables. It. The baby. The child. The crime. If it was dead. It’s true. Is Lotor going to kill it now? Lance tries to think of it as a sentient being suddenly, a sentient thing that didn’t ask for him to commit this crime. It’s not against the little heartbeat under Keith’s, Lance thinks then. It’s the truth, harsh, cold, served in plastic and Styrofoam cutlery. Its existence is rotting Keith from the inside, the fact it _can_ live and grow like this is condemning Keith to a lifetime of pain, a lifetime of this again, of having an unwanted life quicken inside him until his body could not bear to produce it again, having used all its utility.

Of poor little heartbeats who had not asked to be conceived like this.

Yet, most mistakes are like this. They happen, without knowing they will ruin and burn where they roam.

“Your, your Grace,” Lance says, anything else catching in his throat.

Lotor grins, lets go of Lance. The boy crumbles to the ground, staring as Lotor gestures to the servant to bring Keith closer. Keith fights, weakly, heavy yet fully cognizant for what seems the first time in months, trembling with the lack of sedatives in his system. The lights look too bright for him, Lotor too tall and unstoppable.

Shiro roars but nobody hears him. As noisy as the man tries to be, promising Lotor pain and torn limbs, the man does not even turn to spare him a look. Lance realises too late he’s sobbing. A domino suite of mistakes has led him there. There’s one of them inside Keith’s belly, gesticulating with its dam’s agitation. In a grotesque twist, Lotor grabs Keith’s breasts, sizing them in his hands.

A wet patch appears, of sweet milk spilling easily, the breast full, just waiting to be nursed.

“What a good breeder. So many commander will beg to sire you a kit, Thaly.”

Thaly, the Galra name his father’s given to him, to show that he was _his_ and that he claimed him as such.

“Don’t call me that,” the boy snarls.

“And where is your father to make your worth prevail now, _Thaly_?” The mockery makes Keith look like a wolf, drawn into a corner and surrounded, lips pulled back like on a wild creature’s maw. “And still so fiery, even when you’re carrying your shame like this.”

Keith spits on him.

For the first time, Lance sees Lotor grow angry, slapping Keith hard enough to push him to the ground. Wiping his cheek, the Prince only laugh at his outburst. Shiro’s stopped fighting to look in horror, earning the pleased glances of their tormentor. Lance sobs harder.

They don’t know.

He’s brought them to the scaffold in pretty red bows, ripe for the killing. And Lotor played with them for months, like a cat with a colony of mice, unable to flee a cage only the feline can slide into and leave from as it pleases. Lance retches.

“My little pet here thinks it would be better if your little kit was dead,” Lotor says, calling Lance close with a look. The boy crawls, unable to meet his former friend for even a second. His hands are covered in the bile he’s ejected, body shaking. There is no shame there but is. Lance pities Keith.

“I’m sorry,” he cries.

“You don’t even deserve to be fucking sorry,” Keith screams, trying to pull away from the Betas’ grasp on him, kicking and flailing with screeches. “Let me go! Let me go! I’m above you all!”

Lotor told him he’d treat Keith well for his rank. His noble parents from both Altea and Daibazaal. Lance can’t believe he’s trusted those words now.

Lance dares a look up when Lotor placates Keith to the ground, pushing Lance away roughly. There’s a foot on his face and he feels the blood in his mouth, stumbling back, wide eyed as Lotor chokes him. Keith trashes, tries to claw the Prince’s face with gargled noises. Shiro struggles again, making a few, hopeful steps until the Galras around him can hold him back.

Lance opens his mouth to speak when the blood spills.

Lotor’s sharp claws dig inside Keith’s flesh, thinned from the late stages of gestation, digging rivers of blood into his flesh. Keith gasps, Lotor releases his neck just enough for him to draw a painful hiccup. He’s stunned when the flesh of his stomach is torn open at first. It resists, thick yet smooth and soft, as if protecting the unborn life inside within.

Lotor clicks his tongue and produces a luxite knife, pushing it inside the young man’s stomach. Keith gasps as if he barely feels it, Lotor lets go. Keith’s trembling hands try to reach him to stop him. The struggle before exhausted him and now, the heavy blood loss is the last piece to the fabrication of his demise.

The Prince pulls the skin open with bare hands as soon as he can slide them inside. Keith whines and Lance vomits again, choking on it as he wants to speak, wants to say something… but the words die on his tongue. He begs in a whimper, crying softly.

_Please, please, your Grace._

_Please your Grace, hit me instead._

_I’ve done this to him._

_I’ve killed him with my own hands._

“How can you learn? Even hitting you has not taught you anything,” Lotor says back to him, terrifying casual, turning to him as if he’s not pulling a stomach open.

Keith’s eyes are glassy. He shakes from how weak he is, skin even paler as the pool of blead beneath him grows larger. There’s the acrid smell of urine – Lance notices the wetness of his gown. He’s pissed himself, organs relaxing under the pain, as if to focus on keeping him alive, every functions secondary to his heartbeat being left unattended. The well-run machine of the human body shuts down. Tears tracts run from his eyes, clinging to the thick, dark eyelashes.

Lance crawls on his stomach to get closer, to Keith’s other side. He’s not sure why he’s doing this but he sobs more apologies, this time, to Keith. He’s brought the most pain on the one he declared to be in love with.

“Please, your Grace,” Lance begs.

He brings Keith a little closer. Put pressure on the wound, he remembers, hands shaking as he tries to find where to start pushing to no avail. The wound’s too big, it bleeds too much, he doesn’t even dare touch it.

“Please, what?” Lotor purrs, turning his head to him with a bloody hand.

“Please… you have to help Kei—Thaly, your Grace… he, he’s the only one fit to carry your heirs. You promised to treat him well.” Keith tenses in his embrace, clinging to his shirt as he claws at the floor.

“I did and you believed me,” Lotor mocks again, laughing as if in disbelief. “Your Paladin friends were right to say you were an idiot. You brought them right to me, as if I’d have any pity for them. For useful pawns.”

What else was he supposed to do, Lance thinks? When Lotor had great big words and grandiose love declarations for him (hiding spiders in every word, destroying him through every crack he could find while cheapening his team), when Lance fell in love with him and would have drank poison from a cup he’d have offered him?

Lance sobs weakly, cradling Keith close.

“Please, your Grace. At a price, I’ll pay it. My life, my shame, my soul, anything… just help him.”

“Any price?” Lotor says. “I’ll take your life.”

 _Death_ , Lance thinks. He thinks of the prince’s knife suddenly, to drive it into his throat. Thinks of high places again. Lotor’s hand inside his chest as he pulls a flailing sparrow from it to crush it inside his palm.

“But first, one last gift,” the Alpha promises him with a wide smile.

One last poisoned offering.

Lance looks again to see Lotor pull the child from Keith’s stomach. The hole isn’t wide enough and it tears again. Keith weakly turns to see as the Prince tears the protective organ around it, making a clear liquid cover them, mixing with blood and urine, tears and sweat.

Without losing a second, the child, caked in blood and gore from its violent birth, lets out a long cry. Lance sees it’s an Alpha – the size, the faint smell he’s learned to pick up. Lotor’s smile widen even more as he notices it’s a boy, holding him by the scruff of the neck. It looks odd, half human with dark, olive skin and yellow eyes, bellowing for his parent to take him and care for his weak, vulnerable life.

Lotor drops it unceremoniously, startling the boy. It starts screaming even harder, hiccupping with pain between each cry. Something broke. Lotor steps closer, turning to Lance again with an excited expression.

“What a good breeder the one you hold so dear is… an Alpha like this, on a first pregnancy with such seed as yours? He’ll bear good sons to us.” Lotor grins. “You’ve condemned him again. He could have died there, and his sufferings would have ended.”

“I’m… sorry, your Grace.”

“Oh, don’t be,” Lotor croons. “Soon, I’ll be the one knotting this pretty duke. I’ll put a son in him. My Empire will reign supreme now.”

Lotor moves the wailing new born kit with his foot, still connected to his dam with the umbilical cord. He lays on the dirt of the floor, chubby fists shaking angrily.

“There’s something us Galras or noble birth do,” Lotor says. “It’s an old tradition. We kill Omega sons, but… there’s something we do to make our Omegas more fertile.” Lotor turns to Shiro, prostrated on the floor, kneeling like a Crusader crushed by the weight of his massacre, head to the floor, like the knight begging for the Lord’s misery, Keith’s name the warrior’s prayer on his lips. “We kill the Omega’s first born. It sends them into a very potent heat just after, as it to make up for their lost kit…”

“I will not wait for his biology to catch him up,” Lotor proclaims, lifting a foot before slamming it down. The broken sobs stop suddenly with a sickening crunch, the infant’s soft skull easily breaking under the boot. There’s brain and grey matter everywhere, little bones broken into a thousand pieces all around.

Shiro screams them, as if, even to him, who saw nothing but Lance’s crime into Keith’s swollen belly, cannot take the spectacle. A Beta servant lets out a cry. Lance follows her with a sob. He didn’t want this. And now that he’s seen the boy’s scrunched up nose and immense golden eyes with blue irises… Lance can see it, burned behind his eyelids. The screams. The crunch. The silence.

If there was still an ounce of belief in him, he would have given the child a prayer, like a repenting Crusader with the infidel blood on his hand, nonetheless still a child of God, deserving of a life to be able to turn himself back into God’s light, rather than a death where it would forever be cast down to the Devil’s hands.

Lotor cups his cheek with a smile.

“I’ll take your life now,” he said with a wide smile. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

Lance remembers it. Cold, dark, empty, silent.

He’ll be able to hear the child’s cries in his head so loudly. Keith’s screams. Shiro’s fervent murmurs. No tears come to him this time; just acceptance, because there is nothing else he can do but accept the Hell he’s been justly given.

Silence.

“Thank you, your Grace,” Lance says, unsure if he’s speaking to the remnants of his ideals or the Prince before him.

After a medical team leads Keith’s to a medical bay, the grim yet reassuring rasps shaking his body, Shiro allowed to follow, somehow, as if Lance earned them both a little piece of heaven. He thanks Lotor again, in his head, as if convinced he can hear him. Would it be a sin to take the life he was given now? Lance wonders.

And when the door of the dark, clammy cell closes behind him, encasing him in penumbra, he can see Lotor, crowned in light like an Angel of Justice, laying on him a rightful punishment. And Lance thinks, as the door shuts and traps him in complete blindness, that he deserves this retribution.

He’s ruined their lives.

He’s ruined their chances at saving the Universe.

Everything that comes down to him is something deserved.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well... that... happened. the tags were spoilers all along.  
> hope y'all aren't too grossed out.  
> anyway. epilogue soon. hopefully.  
> i love you all.  
> this is not the caffeine speaking.
> 
>  
> 
> PS: waiting for the "shallies kill babies" discourse. when will they make blatant lies about me? i'm waiting.

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  i got this when i tried to tag this as fetus murder and thought everyone needed to see  
> Also, don't forget kids: **comments are better than kudos.**

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [elegy for concepts conceived in deep sleep](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10926024) by [TEARSoverBEERS](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TEARSoverBEERS/pseuds/TEARSoverBEERS)




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